


icarus, soaring

by 100demons



Category: Chakhan Namja | The Innocent Man, Korean Drama
Genre: Character Study, Female Character of Color, Gen, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 06:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/100demons/pseuds/100demons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She chewed mechanically, drank sparingly, and didn’t mention the fact that only bastards carried their mother’s name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	icarus, soaring

For a whore who spread her legs for every passing man who looked like he had two coins to rub, her mother spent hours talking about the impressive lineage of the Cheonju Han clan, noblest of all in Korea. Presiding over a dented pot of ramen, steam curling up around her face, with eyelashes thick with mascara, and enough foundation caked on to hide the creeping wrinkles, her mother lectured.

“Our clan was the noblest of all in Shilla, did you know? We were _seonggol_ , sacred bone. Only we could be the kings and queens. And during the Joseon dynasty, the Hans produced six queens and the greatest general in Korean history.”

“Again with the fucking clan bullshit,” Jae-shik sneered, lying about on the floor like a beggar, sweaty socks piled up around his feet. “The fuck we are yangban to talk about lineage and clan history like that.”

Jae-hee ate silently, the hot noodles tasting bitter and ashy in her mouth. She chewed mechanically, drank sparingly, and didn’t mention the fact that only bastards carried their mother’s name.

* * *

 

Mostly, she thinks of what she wants to eat.

There’s no window, only blocks of gray cement and a metal cell door that looks onto more cement blocks. But she looks, anyway, and sometimes, if she looks only from the corner of her eye, she can see a vague outline of a face in the ceiling above. It’s not quite like the view from Director Ahn’s apartment, with Seoul glittering like a cluster of jewels, encased behind a thick pane of glass. (Or was that her?)

But it’s _her_ view. Not Director Ahn’s, not Chairman Seo’s, not Kang Maru’s. She squints a little and the face shifts, the cracks turning into bright eyes, a button nose and a laughing child’s smile.

Jae-hee closes her eyes.

Some things are too dangerous to think about. Food, the weather, the Murakami book she borrowed from the prison library. These things are safe.

When she leaves, she’s going to have a hamburger from McDonald’s. Fries, dripping with grease. Instant Shin ramen, with _two_ eggs cracked in just because she can and green onions and bean sprouts and maybe even half a can of spam. Fishcakes bought off the street, still dripping with broth and melon ice cream bars during lazy summer nights.

She hasn’t had decent ddukbeokki in years, with plenty of red pepper paste and a cold bottle of makkeoli to wash it all down. It’s strange, the things she craves now. Not rich omelets or steak or red wine older than her, but street food, cheap and greasy, never with enough napkins.

Jae-hee orders the food into a neat list in her mind and looks it over with a careful eye. Today is Sunday. Today, she gets to choose _two_ things to daydream about.

Hesitating, just for a moment, Jae-hee picks somek and cup ramen and savors the taste of styrofoam in her mouth, saliva welling up in distant memory.

* * *

 

Giving birth was the easy part.

Jae-hee waited, listening to the muffled honking from the traffic below, the occasional boom of thunder echoing in the background. The rain beat a steady staccato on the windowsill and the glass was covered with beads of water, enough so that the world outside looked gray and distorted.

Eun-seok stirred at her breast and she automatically pressed him closer, fingers twined in the fringes of his blanket. Already, she thought of him as Eun-seok, could only see him as such. It was probably safer to call him Young-jae, but she couldn’t help but hope.

Eun, to tie him with his sister and remind the Chairman that her son was his son as well, that he was worthy of being part of the family. Eun, to tie him closer to Taesan Group. Eun, to tie herself closer to the Chairman.

The knock was so soft, she almost mistook it for the rainfall outside.

“Come in.”

The door slid open without a sound and Lawyer Ahn strode in, stopping a precise three feet away from her bed and then bowing deeply. His hair, slicked back and shining in the light, never fell out of place.

“Madame.”

“Lawyer Ahn.” Her hair was a mess, she barely had any makeup on, but there was no use in worrying over what tools she didn’t have. A smile was just as powerful when used correctly. Jae-hee let her lips curve upwards and held Eun-seok more securely in her arms. She softened her voice, and let her love for Eun-seok filter through. The flush in the base of his throat marked her success.

“I have news from the Chairman.”

Jae-hee licked her cracked lips and hid her trembling hands in Eun-seok’s swaddling. “Oh? I’ve barely heard from him all afternoon, what’s so important that he sent you over like this in person?”

“He’s added his son to the family register,” Lawyer Ahn said.

 _His_ son. Jae-hee lowered her lashes. “...I see,” she said. “Thank you for telling me.” A clear dismissal and Lawyer Ahn bowed, murmured his good wishes and left, his footsteps fading away into the distance.

A trembling fingertip traced the curve of her son’s brow, his fine, delicate lashes, the pink bow of his lips. _Seo_ _Eun-seok._

Not Han Young-jae.

Not Han Eun-seok.

_Seo Eun-seok._

Jae-hee let her tears finally fall.


End file.
